


Adam lay ybounden

by Lizzen



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Oral Sex, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hardest thing to govern is the heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adam lay ybounden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the The Kisses Down Low Fan Fest. 
> 
> xoxo to A&C!

"I will teach you to be a good lover," she says to him. "You will need skills in case we have to sell you." Lagertha smiles when he pales. With his sweet face and willingness to serve, she's grown fond of him, and his foolish ways. It will have to be a gods' trick if they ever part with him. After all, who will mind her children, especially the one in her belly now, when they are away at the raids? 

Athelstan teeters a little as he takes her outstretched hand, be it nerves or the ale. "I—" he starts, and she hushes him, pulling him closer.

*  
Before he was dragged to her home, fearful and strangely dressed, Lagertha never thought of taking a slave, or any other lover. It is a strange, complicated enterprise for a woman with the real fear of sullying her husband's line. There are reasons for customs, rules; no son of hers will have curly brown hair, no daughter of hers will have Saxon blood flowing in her veins. 

But her husband whispers to her as she considers what lies behind the softness of the slave's eyes and what use can be made of those long, nimble fingers. In the darker parts of her heart, she longs to see how he squirms, how he reacts, how his body will betray him in her arms. He is only a man, after all, for all his pious words. 

The whispers in the night prove that, as ever, her husband's mind mirrors her own.

With delicious despair in his face, the priest declines the offer; but the seed is planted. And now that he is in the dress of her people, and she knows him better, and her belly swells with her husband's child, she has no fear. Her mind is set. 

*  
The first time is a mess; virgins are skittish, virgin priests even more so. Everything overwhelms him, his skin sensitive to every little touch. He is unstable in his own desire as he honors her commands to the letter. She spends more time coaxing and cooing at him than anything else, pleased when he snaps out of whatever shame he feels and shows some potential. It isn't good for either of them, but she's fond of a challenge. 

After, he curls up at her side, breathing hard and speaking softly in his own tongue, a plaintive plea. She smiles and waits a long time before dismissing him. 

(It took him a year to copy down the holy words of the disciple whom Jesus loved; another year to embellish the pages with fine colors and gold. It took less than a few minutes for fire to turn sacred text to dust.)

*  
The second, third, fourth time, progress is made. She warms, remembering being tangled in fine sheets and Saxon limbs. The unkind thought comes to her: if she had any yen to sell his services, she could profit well. From her seat in the hall, she shoots him a careful look, surprised to find him already staring at her. His eyes are dark and full, and there's a ghost of a smile on his face. After a moment, he looks at his feet. 

Loki's mischief quickly leaves her head. She will only share his sweet face with one other. 

*  
By the fifth night, Ragnar joins, and between the three of them, a great deal is learned in how, and how much, and where. Lust is such a complex beast when all are willing, and curious. 

Sweat on her breast, she lies between them as they cool down. Her husband is listening to her heartbeat and her hand is tight around Athelstan's wrist so he knows not to steal away to his own bed. She smiles, her heart full and content. 

Freya often gives her honor, but never like this. The priest makes a choking noise in the dark when Lagertha whispers, "thank you, Lady, for this blessing." She puts her hand on his neck and he stills. 

(She's asleep when, his decision made, he whispers into her hair: "You are my Lady now.")

*  
"This is different," she tells him, gently pushing his head between her legs. He looks up at her, his cheeks are pink and his hand trembles on her thigh. "You will kiss me there," she commands, and sucks in air when he complies immediately. 

She guides him through it, focusing first on teaching and then on pleasure. A lot of thought has brought her to this decision. A Jarl's wife shouldn't allow a slave such intimacy but there will be a time when she is no longer with child, and she's not giving him up. Naked and alone with her, the slave says such strange, foreign things with that tongue of his; she has found a better use for it.

"Fingers next," she adds, absently, her own fingers buried in his curls, alternating between tugging and petting. "One, and then two." He submits to each request willingly, and with some level of his own invention. She can feel his smile against her skin when she gasps, surprised by some twist of his lips, some new rhythm in his thrusting fingers. She aches inside to kiss him (something she does seldom, an imposed distance).

With Saxon fingers deep inside her, slick and wet, and his tongue pressed against her, she reaches such a sweet moment of delight. She forgets herself. It's the first time that his name is on her lips when she's carried off into bliss. Lagertha blushes deeply when she blinks her eyes open, sees him hovering over her. His face is so open, it's like she can read into his heart.

She prays he cannot read into hers. 

*  
Favored of Odin, the Jarl leaves with a large raiding party. All of Kattegat wave to their heroes, their brave brothers and sisters. The Jarl's wife and favored slave stand so still on the shore, they could be statues. 

*  
Before, Ragnar gathers the two of them close to him. 

Athelstan doesn't look his master in the eye, but wishes him good hunting. Ragnar touches his face and kisses him like it might be the last time. "Christian," is all he says, his wolf like grin growing when the slave flinches at the word.

For her, he kisses her face, her neck, her belly. His words are that of a poet and she swats his face, affectionately. She holds him close and bitterly advises him on his ineptitude with a long knife, and the weakness in his healed leg. Her shield arm aches; her heart longs for the adventure she cannot share. He pulls away and kisses her nose. "If I die, it's because you weren't there to protect me." She narrows her eyes, but accepts his words. 

For the two of them, Ragnar gives a knowing, loving smile. "I will remember you both like this," he says.

*  
After, she pushes Athelstan against the wall and kisses him until he's gasping for breath. She thinks to herself that she's just removing the taste of her husband out of his mouth, but it's a lie, it's a lie.

*  
*  
*  
*  
When Ragnar leaves her for the crow and the title and hope of sons, Lagertha's hand is tight around Athelstan's wrist. The words are like ash in her mouth, but she says them anyway: "You are no longer mine to command, but will you—" 

Athelstan looks at her; his fealty was decided many moons ago, and it shows in his face. Her grip on his wrist lessens, and there's a softness that grows along the sharpest edges of her heart.


End file.
